Large poodles worry me.

It’s not that I’m frightened of them. As with most dogs, I tend to adopt a live-and-let-live attitude: they don’t bother me, I don’t bother them; they don’t bite me on the leg, I don’t hit them upside the head with a large shovel — that sort of thing.

But poodles are different. It’s not that they’re ferecious or anything; I’m sure they’re great dogs to play with. Unlike most breeds with a reputation of meanness, though, large poodles, I think, have a reason to go wild — in a word (or two): toy poodles.

I’m walking down the street the other day and see a man walking a giant black poodle, a magnificant beast whose head reached above my waist. On the other side of the sidewalk, a woman ushered along a toy poodle the size of a coffee cup, its curly white coat all decked out with ribbons and frills.

The larger dog had such a look of disdain on his face that I almost thought he was going to start cursing. He realized how degrading it was — and pretty soon I bet he does something about it.

The Revolution is coming, make no mistake about it. And when you find yourself against a wall, pondering if you want that last cigarette or not, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Beware the fuzzy ones.